


Soul Meets Body

by literalbees



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Artist!Reader, Drug Abuse, Drugs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychotropic Drugs, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalbees/pseuds/literalbees
Summary: Some of the room turned back towards the drink table, about forty feet to your left, accompanied by soft and polite laughter as Tony Stark, indeed standing by the drink table, raised a glass towards the stage with a charming close-lipped smile. He lowered the glass as the room again returned their attention to the stage, but you found yourself still looking, having never seen the famous Iron Man in person before. As he was sipping from his glass, he seemed to feel your eyes on him and his gaze flicked to the side, finding yours, and his close-lipped smile spread a bit, revealing sparkling white teeth. He raised an eyebrow and his glass softly towards you.You returned the smile, yours much smaller and reserved, raised your glass an inch or two to him, and then took a sip while holding your gaze on him. As you lowered the glass you looked away, his smile now a curious grin.





	1. Million Dollar Man

Clinking glass, soft ambient almost romantic music, flattering golden light. You felt like you'd been teleported to an alternate world. You were torn between wanting to crawl out of your skin and marveling at the glitz and glamor around you. You settled for marveling, drinking it all in with your sharp eyes, sipping rosy champagne from a tall glass.

It wasn't often a newly graduated art student was able to go to a practically red-carpet event to celebrate a renowned art gallery. It helped that your best friend and roommate was one of the guests of honor. Not that you had any idea where she was at the time, but you guessed that she was off charming a billionaire somewhere. In addition to her natural talent and skill and dedication to art, she was a clever charmer and supermodel level beauty.

Your eyes scanned the room from your spot by the wall, brushing over sleek black tuxes and a sparkling rainbow assortment of dresses. The chandelier cast off sparkling flecks of light across the room, mixing with the faint scents of designer perfume and colognes that carried the soft Edith Piaf style jazz through the room from the stage. A song ended, and a new one began after a short pause while the singer took a small sip of water, tucking a piece of her curly hair behind her ear. Your eye was caught on a tray floating by you, carried by a young man in a black vest and white shirt.

“Excuse me,” you said, softly, taking a toothpick and spearing a small chunk of cheese to take. “Thank you,” you smiled at the young man and stepped back into your spot by the wall, observing again. You saw a number of celebrities mingling among the businessmen and women, all no doubt art curators who may one day be after one of your pieces—if you could only get your name out there. A young man was drifting through the crowd with a camera around his neck, every so often stopping to take a snapshot of people milling about, occasionally small groups would call him over and pose together for their picture, which he would take obligingly before wandering off again.

The song came to an end, and a man appeared on the stage, shaking the singer's hand as he left. “How about a round of applause for the music tonight? Absolutely beautiful, spectacular,” he said, beaming as the room quieted and turned towards him, gentle but enthusiastic applause swelling up briefly as the musicians left the stage. “While our entertainment takes a much deserved break, I'd like to thank some of our special guests for making an appearance tonight and for all of your _amazing_ and generous donations! I'd like to thank...” You tuned out the speech as he began to list celebrities and very important CEOs you hadn't really heard of. “And last but _certainly_ not least, Tony Stark! Who I think might be over by the drinks in the back,” the man on stage joked, shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting across the room comically.

Some of the room turned back towards the drink table, about forty feet to your left, accompanied by soft and polite laughter as Tony Stark, indeed standing by the drink table, raised a glass towards the stage with a charming close-lipped smile. He lowered the glass as the room again returned their attention to the stage, but you found yourself still looking, having never seen the famous Iron Man in person before. As he was sipping from his glass, he seemed to feel your eyes on him and his gaze flicked to the side, finding yours, and his close-lipped smile spread a bit, revealing sparkling white teeth. He raised an eyebrow and his glass softly towards you.

You returned the smile, yours much smaller and reserved, raised your glass an inch or two to him, and then took a sip while holding your gaze on him. As you lowered the glass you looked away, his smile now a curious grin.

Your attention returned to the stage.

“...Up-and-coming artist here among us, some of you may have heard of her. Laarni Ross is her name, and starting a week from now in February her paintings will be featured in our museum throughout the spring season!”

You clapped as best you could with the drink in your hand still, smiling broadly. Eventually the man on stage stepped down, the music returned, immediately picking up with a lively bouncy number, just as Laarni appeared out of the crowd making a beeline for you.

“Y/n!” She was beaming, perfect pearly whites nearly blinding you.

“Laarni, oh my god! I can't believe they just mentioned you on stage-”

“I know!! And guess what!”

You paused, giving her a teasingly suspicious look. “Are you getting married to a multi-billionaire already?”

“No! You know how I wanted to do that semester abroad? I was just checking my email on my phone in the bathroom, and I got approved!”

“That's amazing!” You high-fived her with your free hand. “To Laarni,” you said smiling and holding your glass out to her.

“To Y/n,” she countered, lightly tapping her glass against yours. “May all our endeavors be fruitful, artistic and otherwise."

You grinned, the both of you drinking from your glasses.

Laarni looped her arm in yours. “Come on, no more wallflowering for you tonight,” and she pulled you off into the crowd to mingle at her side.

You glanced back subconsciously, and your eyes met Tony Stark's again, before being absorbed by the crowd. The rest of the night was spent at Laarni's side, as she socialized—and attempted to get you to engage, as well. Gallery owners, celebrities eager to meet Laarni, and art collectors all passed by in a blur.

Eventually the night ended, you and Laarni outside the building looking for a ride home. A taxi pulled up, stopping by the curb ahead of you, and you both stepped towards it.

“Allow me, ladies,” came a smooth voice, and a man in a suit stepped around you to open the taxi for you. You stepped over a half-melted puddle of snow, and looked up to thank him, your eyes meeting round and brown ones-

Laarni smiled broadly. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stark!” And slipped into the back of the taxi, you following close behind.

Tony's gaze was fixed on your eyes as you paused before climbing into the back seat, however, and he smiled. “No problem at all.”

You paused. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Please, call me Tony.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Stark,” you repeated with a playful smile, and slipped into the back to sit by Laarni, who was giving the address to the driver.

Tony closed the door once you were in, tapping the top of the taxi to let the driver know you were inside, and stepped back. He pocketed his hands and walked away towards his own car, winking just before he turned away and a reporter appeared before him.

You turned towards Laarni as she began reminiscing over the night.

“Did you have a good time too, Y/n?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah.”

“I can't believe he opened our taxi door for us, I mean, that was Tony Stark! Oh, gosh, I used to draw him in highschool, right after everyone found out he was Iron Man, I can't believe...” Laarni trailed off.

“I've always been a bit more of a Captain America girl, myself,” you joked. “Tony Stark always seemed a little full of himself.”

“Oh, absolutely, but he's still so handsome!”

You laughed, and settled into a more comfortable position in the back seat, listening to the musical lilt of Laarni's softly accented voice on the ride home.

* * *

 

The following week found you in your studio, back in your usual clay and paint splattered jeans and gray smock with the music blasting. Across the studio were various shapes covered in cloudy sheets of plastic. You spun around on your wheeled metal stool, pushing yourself absentmindedly from point to point, phone in hand, searching for inspiration. You rolled with a kick back to your work table and towards the big block of clay waiting for you. With a loud, dramatic and heavy sigh, you placed your phone on the table in it's ziploc bag—there to protect it from the clay that would inevitably get everywhere, you never were known in art school for your clean work station—and fixed the clay with a glare. Shaking your head, you picked up your phone again and changed the music. The feeling in your chest immediately changed, you relaxed, you saw the clay as less daunting and more as an exciting challenge. You put your phone aside and dove in, cutting off section after section of clay and then picking up your smaller tools and diving in like a mad scientist experimenting on a cadaver.

Eventually you stopped, head light. Checking the time, you realized you'd been at work for nearly six hours without anything to eat or drink. It was four now, you saw, and realized you hadn't eaten for nearly seven hours. You washed your hands in the steel sink after covering your work in progress with another sheet of plastic, pulling your smock over your head and taking your phone out of it's ziploc bag. You donned your coat, slipping your phone into your pocket and grabbing your bag, checking to make sure you had your wallet. There was just enough time to get something to eat before you had to get ready for Laarni's art opening.

A sandwich, a subway ride, and one short evening of getting ready later, you were in a bathroom at the museum trying to coax Laarni down from an anxiety attack.

“Honey, it's going to be okay, I promise. They wouldn't have your stuff here if they didn't think it was worth showing. Out of aaaaaaalll the possible artists they could have chosen, they chose your paintings. That's pretty spectacular. You're going to do great, it's most of the same people from that event last week, you know the crowd so you'll have an easy time socializing. And I'm going to be here all night too, just a shout or a text away if you need me, yeah? Come on, deep breaths.” You took a deep breath, gesturing for her to follow your example. She nodded, closing her eyes and breathing in through her nose. “Now out through your mouth,” you blew the air out softly through loosely pursed lips, Laarni following suit again. A few rounds and she was back to normal.

“Will you stay with me for a while in case I start panicking again?”

“Of course. Just tell me when you're ready to go out there, because it's starting soon.”

She nodded, breathing deeply and sighing. “Okay. I'm ready.”

Laarni didn't need you for long. As soon as she settled into a flow, she was back to her usual gracious and friendly self, mingling about and discussing her pieces and answering any questions that art journalists and critics might throw her way.

“Laarni, I'm going to go around and take a look at everything, you good here?” You asked as a collector walked away from both of you and you spotted a TV celebrity moving towards you that Laarni had always had a soft spot for.

She nodded. “I think I'm okay now. Thank you so much, Y/n, you're an absolute angel,” she smiled at you, touching your shoulder thankfully.

You smiled. “Don't look now, but your TV boyfriend is coming over,” you nudged her and slipped away as the actor stepped forward to introduce himself to your friend.

You wandered further into the gallery to look at the somewhat familiar pieces, curious to see how they had displayed them. You found yourself lingering a bit longer in front of one that had always been your favorite, a vibrant six-by-six foot piece.

At the center of the canvas was a circle of soft pink, somewhat resembling a rose, if painted from above by Monet. The center spiraled out like flower petals, and slowly light pastel blue joined and darkened, and the pink was slowly replaced with dark jewel blue chaotically mixed with orange, resembling lightning in clouds. The paint, now textured like choppy waves, kept getting thicker and thicker as it reached the edges of the painting, creating a visible slope from the sides into the center. The frame was ornate and dark gold, only slightly tarnished, and it looked like something you would find framing a centuries old painting in a royal castle in Europe.

“I take it you're a fan of this one.”

A voice interrupted your almost meditative state. You turned, eyes finding a man in a crisp suit with a rather unique goatee and round, brown eyes-

“I'm sorry?” You asked, turning just slightly towards him, sharp eyes focusing in on him, taking in every detail.

“You've been looking at this one for quite a while. I've only been here for just a bit myself, but I have to say it's one of my favorites so far,” Tony Stark said, walking slowly up next to you, stopping just under an arm's distance away and facing the painting, angled almost imperceptibly towards you.

You hummed in agreement. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I'm a fan of this one,” you explained.

“Looks kind of like a hurricane on acid.” He looked at you, and smiled. “I mean that in the best way, of course.”

You smiled back agreeably.

“I take it you're a friend of the artist?”

“Laarni?”

He nodded. “Yes, that one,” he said, joking, as if there could be another artist he meant.

You nodded too. “Fairly good friends, I'd say,” you smiled somewhat coyly.

“And what do you do?”

“Art,” you said vaguely, your coy smile spreading into a small grin despite your best effort.

“Oh really? Do you paint too?” He raised his eyebrows, and turned slightly more towards you.

“I dabble.”

He grinned broadly. “You're not very chatty, are you?”

You shrugged, sipping your drink with a playful look.

He gave a brief laugh, and looked at the painting again. “Since you're friends with the artist, do you have any behind the scenes trivia on this painting?”

“You see how it raises around the edges?”

“I do.”

“Most of that is paint, and the texture is mostly paint too, but she glued a layer of ripped discount canvas underneath to help.”

“Resourceful.” He approached the painting and leaned closer to look at the texture, and stepped to the side to read the plaque beside the frame. “Say, who's Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Y/n, the name of the painting,” he gestured at the plaque, looking back at you.

You raised your eyebrows over the edge of the glass at him as you sipped your drink again.

He raised his head and opened his mouth softly. “That's you,” he said, tone halfway between a question and a declaration. He read the artist statement quickly and stepped back from the painting, looking at it with his hands in his pants pockets, back to you. He looked at you over his shoulder again. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

You laughed aloud. “I did spend many hours posing for it.”

“Oh, well, I hope it wasn't uncomfortable,” he walked back to his spot next to you and clasped his hands behind his back, stepping quickly out of the way of a small group who moved into place to observe the painting as well for an extended moment before moving on.

“It wasn't so bad, as long as she kept the heater on. It gets drafty in the studio, without clothes. I think it was worth it, don't you?”

He looked at the painting briefly, then at you, tilting his head slightly and grinning in astonished glee. “Absolutely.”

“No drink tonight, Mr. Stark?” You nodded at his empty hands, now tucked behind his back.

“Please, it's Tony, Ms... I don't know your last name, actually.”

“Y/l/n.”

“Well, Ms. Y/n Y/l/n, if you must know, I wasn't terribly fond of the line at the refreshment table.”

“You don't seem like a person usually turned off by a challenge.”

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Y/l/n.” He held your gaze.

“Y/n,” you corrected. “If I'm going to call you Tony, you can call me Y/n.”

His lips twitched in a smile. You weren't sure if the eye contact the two of you were holding was becoming awkwardly drawn out or if it was becoming aggressively flirtatious.

Knowing Tony Stark's reputation, you went with 'aggressively flirtatious.'

The slow trickle of visitors to the gallery turned into a steady flow around you.

“I think I've overstayed my welcome,” Tony said, glancing around at the group trying to view the painting named after you, “And it might be time to let others take a look. Care to join me on the rest of the walk?”

You started walking, Tony falling into step next to you, making idle chit chat.

“You never did tell me what kind of art you do,” he said, as you moved from painting to painting.

Your phone buzzed, distracted, you pulled it out of your pocket to see a text from Laarni.

_Where are you? I'm in the bathroom and Christopher just asked me out!!_

You locked the phone, pocketing it after sending a quick response back.

_I'm with Tony Stark_

“Something important?” Tony asked.

“Laarni. She'll be fine,” you smiled.

Your phone buzzed again.

“I'm sorry, let me just-” You pulled out your phone, knowing it was Laarni again.

_I said yes, I'm going to get a drink with him_

You shook your head with amusement. “Sorry, she gets panic attacks sometimes so I promised I'd be on hold for her, but she's fine.” You looked at Tony again, seeing some glint of—understanding? Admiration? You weren't sure, you'd never been good at reading others' emotions. “But, to answer your question, I mostly do sculpture.”

“What kind of sculpture?”

You paused. “It's-” you paused for an almost awkwardly long time, gaze flicking between his two eyes, and you blurted. “Would you like to see?”

“Oh, definitely-”

“Let's go get our coats, then,” you interrupted with a smile.

Tony paused, mouth half open, before shutting it and grinning like he'd just been told a spectacular secret. “I'll meet you at the coat check, if you'd like for me to return your glass,” he said, taking your half-empty drink from your hands, fingers brushing yours.

You nodded, and exited the gallery wing, going down the stairs to the entrance lobby and retrieving your coat from the check, waiting for Tony to meet you. You soon heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You turned, expecting to find Tony coming to join you, but the footsteps were one pair too many and instead you saw Laarni and Christopher, the actor, coming down the stairs together.

“Y/n!” Laarni spotted you. “You're leaving too?”

“Oh! Your friend, like the painting?”

“Exactly the one,” Laarni turned to introduce you. “Y/n, this is Chris, Chris, this is Y/n.”

Chris shook your hand, running his other hand through his blonde hair. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/n.”

“Same to you,” you smiled back, and he turned away to get his and Laarni's coats.

“How was it?” You asked Laarni.

“Oh, it went so great Y/n, you were right,” she beamed, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “And now I'm getting drinks with Christopher freaking Ashwood!”

You both stifled giggles, and Chris reappeared with Laarni's coat, helping her into it like a gentleman.

“Are you just going home, Y/n?” Laarni asked, pulling her hair out from her coat collar.

You paused, seeing Tony out of the corner of your eye coming down the stairs. “Yeah, just home for me,” you said, making brief eye contact with Tony just long enough to see him raise an eyebrow as he heard you and reached the bottom of the stairs. “You two have fun tonight.”

They both made farewells and left out the front door.

“Just going home?” Tony questioned, coming to a stop in front of you.

“Well, my studio is practically a second home for me,” you raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge you.

He laughed, walking over to the coat check and handing over his ticket, leaning against the small wooden counter that topped off the half-door and looking at you with a sly smile. You just stared right back, watching as they brought him his coat and he tipped the young man working a twenty dollar bill. He pulled his coat on, walking back towards you.

“Shall we?”

You followed Tony outside, where you were met with his personal car. He opened the passenger door for you so you could get in, closing it behind. While you buckled he tipped the valet. You took the moment when he was walking around the front of the car to the driver's side to run your hands over the leather of the seat you were in and gaze around at the sleek interior, whispering “Holy shit,” to yourself.

The driver's door opened, and you pulled your hands back into your lap, still combing over the dashboard with your eyes as Tony slid into the driver's seat. He looked at you with a grin, buckling his seat belt. “Alright, where are we heading?”

You gave him the address.


	2. Don't Let the High Go to Waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, my god,” Karen said, sitting finally in her wheeled office chair and turning on her computer. “I can't believe—what's with your grin?” A knowing look appeared in her eyes. “You got up to some mischief, didn't you?”

Tony Stark, despite the speeding, and many, _many_ illegal maneuvers, was a very good driver. And a chatty one at that, talking over the music playing from the speakers of his car, the energetic bouncy tune loosening you up enough to actually respond as he quizzed you about what art and music you personally liked. As you got closer to your studio the situation began to feel more and more surreal. You watched him as he drove, streetlights flashing by in the background.

He pulled the car into a parking spot on the street around the corner from the studio in a dark spot underneath a broken streetlight, and the two of you climbed out of your respective seats.

“Just around the corner, you said?”

You nodded, pulling your keys out of your purse and jingling them briefly in your open raised hand at him, trying to hide your smile, and failing.

“Lead the way,” he said, falling into step beside you, pressing a button on his keys to lock the car. The lights flashed with a gentle beep, and you turned the corner, stepping over a half-melted puddle of snow. “Lovely little neighborhood.” Tony interrupted the silence. “I'm half expecting a dealer to pop out of the cracks in the sidewalk.”

“He's only here every other week, I'm afraid you missed him,” you said, unlocking the front door and glancing over your shoulder at him with a grin to show you were joking—mostly.

He laughed. “I hope you're on good terms with him, it's very dangerous to get on the bad side of the local dealer.”

“Very good terms,” you said, stepping inside and holding the door open for him. He stepped through the doorway and turned to face you once inside.

“How good?”

“An artist always needs a little help with inspiration sometimes,” you looked away, closing the front door. “The studio is just up the stairs, follow me.” You moved past him, arm brushing part of his arm and chest softly, and led the way up the stairs, Tony Stark following close behind.

There were four studios in total in the small square building, two downstairs and two upstairs. To get to yours, you had to pass each of the other three, the doors to the downstairs studios in plain view of the front door and the door to the first studio upstairs halfway down the hall on the left. The door to yours was all the way at the end of the hall on the right hand side, next to a small window with a beaten-up end table hosting a small potted plant underneath the sill. The lights were all off, but the light from outside shone through the single window at the end of the hall, just enough to see the narrow hallway, which was just barely wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder in.

Tony kept just behind your left shoulder as you walked to your doorway, and waited patiently with his hands in his pockets while you unlocked the door. You glanced back at him over your shoulder again.

“It might be a bit messy-”

“I'll watch my step.”

You held his gaze, measuring his expression. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“It can't be any worse than my workshop.”

You tilted your head in grudging agreement, as if to say 'touche,' and you let him in, flicking on the light, closing the door behind him after he followed you in. You walked over to the one clean table, setting down your purse, putting your keys back inside and checking your phone while he wandered towards the table you had been working at earlier that day.

“Plastic sheets, very avante-garde,” he turned to look at you.

“That one's a work in progress,” you called over, and Tony wandered away towards the other end of the room to look at the uncovered and mostly complete pieces, an array of twisting abstract shapes of varying textures and sizes.

Tony looked back at you over his shoulder, head tilted with a wide grin. “I have to say, you're extremely talented,” he said. “These are... These are honestly great.”

He walked back towards you, passing your small desk tucked against the wall, and you saw him do a double take.

“You're a smoker?”

“Not cigarettes,” you said vaguely, raising an eyebrow at him, turning your head slightly to the side and pretending to brush off some dirt from the edge of the table you leaned on. You looked at him sideways and from under your eyelashes, deliberately vague.

He walked closer, lowering his voice. “Got any with you?”

You turned your head to look at him straight on. It seemed the two of you couldn't make any kind of eye contact that wouldn't be described as 'strong.' You broke the gaze reluctantly, turning back around and reaching into your purse, pulling out a lighter and a small tin, from which you produced an almost perfectly wrapped joint, and offered it to him.

“Ladies first,” he smiled.

“Now, what kind of host would I be if I didn't insist on my guest taking the first hit?”

Tony laughed. “Alright, then,” and took the lighter from you, tucking the joint between his lips, and lighting it. He put the lighter down on the table next to you, and then took the joint out of his mouth, blowing the smoke away from you while still holding eye contact. He looked down at it pinched in his fingers before handing it over. “Wow. That is some smooth shit.”

You laughed, and took a drag, looking down. You handed it back over.

Approximately one and a half shared joints later, you were seated with Tony Stark on the floor between two of your work tables. At least, _you_ were seated, shoes kicked off to the side as you leaned on one arm, legs tucked under you to one side, keeping your skirt in place. Tony, however, was laying on his back, silk ties loose and messy around his collar, the top button now undone. He was laying on his back, knees raised and feet flat on the ground. The two of you continued to pass the joint back and forth while Tony told you funny stories and jokes, clearly just trying to get you to laugh as much as possible. It was working; You could barely keep your eyes open, you were laughing so much.

“He was actually _naked,_ on _my_ couch on _my_   yacht, with one of the dancers when I woke up the next day. He's a hardass, but once you get him to unwind a little bit, couple of drinks in him, Rhodey can be quite the party animal.”

You tried to cover your laughter with your hand. “I've seen him on TV, it's hard to picture that,” you said, catching your breath.

Tony was smiling at you from his spot on the floor. The two of you passes the last remaining bit of the joint between the two of you, finishing it off.

“Pretty sure it's dead now,” you said, carefully rising to your feet, consciously making an effort not to flash Tony the contents of your skirt as you did so. You put the roach in the ash tray that was on your desk, the one that had prompted him to ask if you were a smoker.

“You should tell me about your sculptures,” Tony called over from his spot on the floor.

You turned back to look at him. He seemed effortlessly comfortable, as if getting high with a stranger in an art studio was his regular kind of Thursday night activity.

“Well, they're clay-”

“I mean your inspiration, what you're going for.”

You paused, Tony twisting his head around to look at you, before suddenly sitting up and then fluidly rising to his feet, fixing you with his examining gaze again.

“Do you ever not stare?” You blurted out.

“It's hard not to, when you're looking at something so pretty. Why, does it make you uncomfortable?”

You didn't look away, and you didn't answer, returning to his previous line of questioning. “What I'm going for.”

He nodded. “What do you think about when you make them?”

“Feelings,” you said. “People.”

“People,” he repeated. “Feelings?”

“How people make me feel,” you elaborated.

“Ah,” he said, looking back over at the sculptures on the far end of the studio space, glancing back at you, and then wandering over towards them again.

“Laarni says they're like... She calls them 'soul portraits,'” you said, following him over.

“Sounds like a killer name for an art exhibit,” he said, looking closer at the abstract twisted shapes. “Who's this one? Looks kind of like a bunch of tentacles.”

“Ex,” you said, not missing Tony's stolen look at you when you said the word. “He was into tentacle porn.”

Tony laughed at your deadpan joke, eyes crinkling slightly. You smiled, and Tony moved to the next one, something resembling a twisty tree covered in knots.

“They're not all quite finished. These pieces are all dried, but I need to paint them and add the rest of the parts.”

“There's more to them?”

“Technically it's multimedia sculpture. I only have the clay parts done.”

He walked from piece to piece, looking for a long time at each as if he hadn't done so earlier when the two of you first arrived at your studio.

“How do I feel?” He asked suddenly.

You looked at him, waiting for elaboration.

“If I was one of your sculptures, how would I feel?”

“Complicated,” you said simply.

“Complicated?” He prompted, stepping closer to you.

“I'm bad at the words thing, I'm better at editing what others have to say,” you admitted, lowering your voice as if you were in a library. He took another step towards you. “I'm more tactile.”

“Tactile.”

“Handsy, sensation oriented, physical.”

The look on Tony's face was like you'd just told him a wonderful secret. “I've had the same said about me,” he said, voice low.

The two of you were now standing close enough to touch. You could see flecks of cinnamon and gold in his brown eyes, and you were sure he could hear your breathing.

“I've heard,” your voice was casual, lightly teasing, suggestive.

And suddenly you were kissing each other aggressively, his hands gripping at your waist, your hips, and yours pulling his head closer, digging into his hair, pulling hungrily at the soft locks. He groaned, pressing in closer, fingers squeezing, sliding lower and then lifting you up onto your work table, wedging himself between your legs with his hands sliding up the outside of your thighs and slipping just under the hem of your skirt. Your own hands, hungry with a mind of their own, couldn't seem to make up their minds, one gripping the back of his head, tangled in his hair as he lowered his head to begin kissing the side of your neck, licking your pulse and nipping at the warm skin. Your other hand slipped down to his chest, slipping under the collar of his shirt to feel his skin and you wrapped your legs around the small of his back as his hands slid up further under your skirt.

Everything was a blur after you started unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

 

“So what'd you get up to last night?” your coworker asked you, putting her purse down on her desk that was just a few feet from yours. “Your roommate had an art opening last night, right?”

You looked up from your desk, accepting the hot chai that Karen gave you, thanking her. “Yeah, it went great,” you smiled, sipping your drink. “She ended up leaving with an actor. You know, um, what's his name, Christopher Ashwood?”

Karen's jaw dropped. “No _fucking_ way. The movie star?”

You nodded, grinning.

“Did she bring him home? What did she say about him?”

Your grin spread. “I wouldn't know, I didn't really see her this morning.”

“Oh, my god,” Karen said, sitting finally in her wheeled office chair and turning on her computer. “I can't believe—what's with your grin?” A knowing look appeared in her eyes. “You got up to some mischief, didn't you?”

You grinned wider, cupping the hot cup in both hands. “Maybe. But I don't fuck and tell.”

You giggled madly at her scandalized expression as she leaned over and smacked your knee with her rolled up copy of the morning paper. Though, not a copy of the paper you both worked for, you noted. “Y/n! I demand you tell me everything, right this instant!”

“Okay, _fine,_ ” you said, sipping your drink. “But I'm not saying who.”

She waved her hand at you, gesturing to hurry up and spill.

“I may have taken a genius billionaire back to my art studio, gotten him high, and then hooked up with him on my worktable-” you said, giggling at her wide shocked eyes. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Y/n? How did that happen? You're usually so- so reserved!”

You shrugged, turning towards your computer screen. “I'm an artist, Karen. I get up to things sometimes.”

Karen scoffed. “You're really not going to tell me who it was?”

“I didn't even tell Laarni I was leaving with someone,” you admitted. “I'm a private person.”

“You just like feeling mysterious,” she said, opening up her paper, scanning through the articles. “Oh! There's an article about the opening! I guess it went well, she sold quite a few pieces last night.”

“Really? Which ones?” You asked curiously, clicking open your editing program, ready to dive into the stack of articles waiting for you to polish up for your coworkers.

Karen started reading an excerpt from the article. “'Laarni Ross sold a total of five pieces last night to various art collectors, including a piece titled _Whirlwind_ to actor Christopher Ashwood, and _Y/n_ , to genius inventor and billionaire Tony Stark...'” Karen trailed off and gasped. “Tony Stark?!” She whisper yelled at you. “You got high and hooked up with _Tony Stark_ at your studio last night?!”

“What gives you the idea that it was Tony Stark? Maybe he just liked the painting,” you evaded her gaze, teasing her.

“Um, genius billionaire? Playboy reputation? He _bought a painting named after you?_ ”

You shook your head. “I can't believe he bought that painting,” you said as if discussing a mutual friend's ugly shirt, typing something down on your keyboard with a series of soft and rapid clicks.

“ _I_ can't believe you hooked up with Tony Stark,” Karen said, returning to her paper. “And you weren't going to tell me who it was!”

You laughed, settling in to your work.

The day flew by, as it always did. You didn't get as much work done as you should have, your head filled with thoughts of Tony Stark's hair in your hands and his hands on your legs. You were finished up at the end of the day, saving your work as the office floor slowly cleared out.

“Bye Karen, I'll see you Tuesday,” you said, waving as you entered the elevator and she stayed behind to finish her article. She waved back distractedly, sparing not even so much as a glance in your direction away from her work.

The subway ride back home felt quicker than normal, music drowning out the sound of the crowd. You walked the last two blocks home through the snow, the lack of sleep from the night before catching up to you.

“Laarni, I'm home!” You called out into the quiet apartment, closing the front door behind you and kicking off your shoes.

“Y/n! Oh my god, last night—I have so much to tell you about—I'm having dinner with Christopher tonight-”

You beamed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously! We talked so late last night, he's so intelligent and—ugh—he's so gorgeous, Y/n, I think I might die.”

You laughed. “You'll probably be fine. What time is dinner?”

“He's coming to get me in an hour! I'm sorry, I know we usually have our fun Friday night dinner every week, but I just like him so much-”

You waved her off. “It's totally fine, Laarni, really. If you have the opportunity to go out with your celebrity crush, you go for it. Come on, I'll help you get ready.” You followed her into her room to help her pick out an outfit to wear to dinner, sleep, and Tony Stark, tickling at the corner of your mind.


	3. It Could Be Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How much is it?”  
> “That gentleman over there payed, actually-”  
> You followed the gaze of the barista, and your shaded eyes met soft brown ones-  
> “Long time no see, sunshine,” Tony Stark said, wearing jeans and a band shirt, sunglasses hanging on the collar. “Fun night?”

Laarni was head over heels for Christopher, you already knew after their first date. A week later, and you were sure he was just as crazy about her as she was him. They spent nearly all of their time together. Doing what, you had no idea, but you assumed it was sappy and romantic, and probably not suitable for anyone under seventeen to hear about. Apparently he was also helping her practice her French for her art residency, about two months away.

Meanwhile, you spent the majority of your time at your art studio working on your sculptures or at the paper helping with the editing, and assisting Karen with her leads. There was only so much time you were needed for editing, and only so much time you could spend elbow deep in clay. Your free time was spent mostly in pajamas, binging your favorite shows or just flat out asleep. You may or may not have had a dream or two about that night with Tony Stark in the week after your somewhat clandestine liaison together in your studio. You never thought on it too long, other than to marvel at the surrealism of the evening with a mix of glee and satisfaction. You knew Tony Stark's reputation, you expected nothing more from him than the one—rather excellent—night. Just the way you preferred it. But that didn't stop it from crossing your mind now and then.

“Y/n! I'm home!” You heard Laarni's voice announcing her return home, interrupting your reminiscing.

“Hey!” You called out, acknowledging her and letting her know you were home. She appeared in your doorway.

“You're in pajamas already? Get up, lazy!” She laughed, her musical accent teasing you.

You groaned. “What for? It's already dark out!” You didn't want to admit these were the same pajamas you'd slept in.

“We're going out tonight! I'm going to meet some of Chris's friends, and you're coming with me!” She swatted at your feet under the blanket. “Come on! Maybe you'll even hit it off with one of them,” her eyes sparkled excitedly.

“Laarni, you know I don't like dating-”

“I know, I know! You don't like romance, or dating, or relationships, but his friends are all so cute! You never know!”

“Laarni,” you whined. “You know my style, love 'em and leave 'em, yeah? I'm not gonna do that to your dream guy's friends.”

She groaned. “Fine, but you should come anyway. Chris is buying all the drinks.”

You sat up quickly. “Free booze? Well, I do like to be there for my lovely roommate-” You were cut off by Laarni's laugh as a pillow hit your face.

“Get up, you disaster.”

You laughed, rolling out of your bed.

Honestly, you should have known you'd be going to one of the city's hottest new clubs, a place called Volcano. Christopher Ashwood was an A-list movie star, after all. You entered the club behind Chris and Laarni, skipping the line altogether and entering the club, cameras flashing outside as the bouncer let you past a black velvet rope, eager to capture photos of those who made it in on opening weekend.

The interior of the club glittered with warm light, shimmering gold and red moving in ever fluid waves in much the same way light might dance across the bottom of a swimming pool. Every smooth surface was black and glittering like shattered obsidian, the décor was all reds and oranges and dark grays and deep golds. The dance floor was a deep crimson red, set lower than the rest of the club, in front of a small stage where a DJ stood, attending to his equipment, playing almost hypnotic electronic and pop, perfect for dancing. You felt the bass gently tapping inside your ribs, quickening your pulse. Between the dance floor, which was to your right, and the bar, which was to your left, were a series of booth tables, each with a small opening on each side for easy access to the dance floor and the bar. The booths were raised up so that you could see around the whole club with ease, and you noted that they actually bordered nearly the whole dance floor, if it weren't for the two sets of staircases that led into the lowered space. One staircase was close to the exit, and this one was rather large, at least five people could stand on it shoulder to shoulder without touching, and a second staircase on the far side, that was about a third the size. You wouldn't have been able to see it past the crowd if it weren't for the people going up and down it. And, on the far wall, the VIP and private booths, each lit by a deep orange hanging lamp.

You saw why they called it Volcano.

You followed Chris and Laarni between the booth tables and the crowded bar to the VIP tables, where a small group of young attractive men greeted the three of you with the unbridled enthusiasm of an entire litter of golden retriever puppies—only they were four young men in their mid to late twenties on the high of a potentially thrilling night.  
Christopher preformed the introductions, first introducing Laarni, then you (as “Laarni's dear friend Y/n”), and then the four men in the booth as you took your seats. You registered that they were all very conventionally attractive, typical looking actor/model types with sparkling light eyes and clear skin.

“What can I get for the ladies?” Christopher asked you and Laarni, raising his voice over the music.

“Rum and coke,” Laarni said.

“I'll have the same,” you nodded. Rum and coke was always a safe bet.

“Coming right up,” he flashed his teeth at Laarni and disappeared, leaving the two of you with his friends.

“So, you two are artists?” Asked one of his friends—the brunette, was his name Arthur?

“That's how Chris and I met,” Laarni nodded. “At my art opening, actually.”

“What kind of stuff do you do?” One of the two blondes spoke up, sipping his drink and leaning forward to hear her better.

“I paint, some experimental stuff,” Laarni shrugged.

“How about your friend here?”

“Me?” You asked, pointing at yourself.

“Yes, you,” the second blonde one laughed. Tim? Jim? John?

“Sculpture,” you said vaguely. “Abstract sculpture, clay and mixed media.”

Christopher returned surprisingly quick with three drinks in hand, handing two to you and Laarni. You sipped eagerly on yours, sitting back and half listening to the conversation.

Two drinks later, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The quiet room contained three stalls facing three sinks in a black stone counter underneath a broad mirror. The black stone counter was hosting a pair of friends, bent over with their faces pressed to the stone, inhaling deeply. Their hair covered their faces, but you were more than familiar with what they were doing. You slipped past into the closest stall, releiving yourself, and then coming out to wash your hands.

“Hey,” one of them said, looking at you, brushing her blonde hair out of her face, nose red. Her ginger friend was still snorting off the counter top. “Having a good time?”

You dried off your hands. “Not as good as you two, I think,” you smiled at her, showing you didn't mean it as a jab.

Her ginger friend straightened up, tossing her hair out of her face with a laugh. “Want some?”

You shook your head, shrugged, and then laughed briefly. “I'm trying to stay on the wagon,” you said. “Promised my friend. And I don't have anything to pay you back with anyway,” you added, looking on as the ginger started setting up fresh lines on the counter.

The blonde girl waved you off. “It's not ours. This guy was cheating on us with each other, so we both dumped him and stole all his coke,” she laughed. “Now we're practically best friends.”

The ginger quickly inhaled one of the lines, and stepped back, rubbing her nose.

“Well, shit,” you said, eyebrows shooting up into space, eyeing the white lines on the counter.

“Nuh-uh honey. We ain't gonna be responsible for someone falling off the wagon, now scoot that cute ass along,” the blonde girl said, waving you away when she saw the way you were looking at the powder.

“Have a good night,” you said, forcing a smile at her and her friend, and left quickly.

You stopped by the booth, shouting over the music to Laarni that you were going to go dance for a bit. It was just Chris and her in the booth now, with one of his friends. You figured the rest were out dancing too, though you didn't care much if you found them or not as you floated down the stairs onto the dance floor, immediately losing yourself in the beat, in the joy and the rising spike of energy building in you, bouncing and swaying your hips to the beat, gyrating your whole body. Someone came up and pressed into your back, wrapping an arm around your waist. You leaned back into them and embraced the moment, the two of you falling into a synchronized beat as the lights flashed through your closed eyes. You never saw who you danced with, leaving abruptly at one point to go and get yourself a third drink. You spent the rest of the night ricocheting from dance floor to private booth and back again. All in all, it was a good time. And Chris's friends weren't half bad, either.

The next morning you woke up much earlier than you normally would, and found yourself in a strange bed. Seeing the familiar face of one of Chris's friends from the night before in the bed next to you, you covered your face with your hands and let out a slow quiet sigh before sneaking out of the bed, collecting your things and dressing on your way to the front door, letting yourself out and quickly finding a cab.

“Where to, miss?” The driver asked with a thick Scottish accent.

“Coffee,” you said plainly and the taxi drove off.

You were in a fairly nice neighborhood, that much was clear by the clean streets and polished storefronts. The back side of the familiar Avengers tower loomed overhead, just a block away.

“Alrighty miss, here we are, the best cafe in the area,” the driver looked at you in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” you said, and payed.

The front of the cafe was made up of two large floor-to-ceiling windows. The inside, as a result, was very well lit in addition to being airy and spacious. Everything was the color of soft honey wood or white and gold, and soft acoustic covers of romantic songs drifted through the background sounds. You felt slightly out of place in your short dress from last night, smudged makeup behind sunglasses, and audible heels. Nevertheless you took your place in line, unashamed. Reaching the front of the line, you placed your order.

“How much is it?”

“That gentleman over there payed, actually-”

You followed the gaze of the barista, and your shaded eyes met soft brown ones-

“Long time no see, sunshine,” Tony Stark said, wearing jeans and a band shirt, sunglasses hanging on the collar. “Fun night?”

You thanked the barista and stepped aside to wait for your order, thankful for your long cardigan over your dress you'd stuffed inside your purse the night before and were now wearing.

“Too fun,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest and standing a good few feet away from him.

“No such thing, party while you can,” he said, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he stood facing the counter across from the two of you.

You stood there, awkwardly quiet next to your greatest conquest and best one-night-stand, probably ever, in the middle of a very, very nice cafe filled with clean-cut socialites. A cafe that was much too nice for you, and your short dress that smelt vaguely of rum.

“Tony,” called out a different barista, placing a paper coffee cup on the counter with Tony's name written on the side. He stepped forward to claim it. You definitely didn't watch him intently the whole time, completely absorbed, no sir, not at all. And you definitely didn't hastily look away when he came back to stand next to you.

“So what brings a young fun-loving lady such as yourself to a pretentious and boring neighborhood like this?” He asked.

You looked at him through your sunglasses. “Laarni dragged me to a club last night.”

“I can see that.”

You looked away, embarrassment heating your cheeks. “Look, I wasn't expecting to run in to a-”

“One time bang?”

“To put it bluntly. Wasn't expecting to run into one here, especially not... You. I mean come on, don't you have people to fetch your coffee and sh- stuff for you?” You quickly corrected yourself, it didn't feel appropriate to swear in this particular venue.

He smiled, much gentler this time. “I like to get out every now and again, wander freely amongst the common people.”

“Uh... Sunshine?” The barista called out awkwardly, looking towards you and Tony.

“You've got to be kidding me,” you sighed, looking at Tony, who raised his eyebrows at you in feigned innocence. You went over to take your drink from the counter. “He thinks he's funny,” you grumbled to the confused young man behind the counter. “Thanks.” You sipped your drink and returned to Tony.

“How is it?”

“Good,” you sighed.

He grinned delightedly.

You grimaced and rubbed your eyes under your sunglasses. “I really should get going. Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Stark,” you said, turning on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door. Tony didn't seem to be done with you yet, however, and followed you out.

“Need a lift somewhere? Walking in those shoes can't be comfortable.”

You paused in your path, back still to him as he waited for an answer. You turned around slowly to look him up and down, but your hard gaze didn't seem to phase him. “Do you normally offer rides to your flings when you run into them weeks later?”

“Only when they're very, very good,” he said. “And usually also only if I also drunkenly bought a painting named after them.”

You chuckled. “I heard about that. Okay, I'll take a ride.”

Tony had a different car from last time, still showy, but more appropriate for mundane day use. It still oozed wealth, as did most things that Tony seemed to own. It suited him.

“Where to then? Your place?”

You looked at him questioningly. “Yes. You say it like you think you're invited in, though.”

“What, was I not very good last time?”

You were glad your room was clean. He thought the place was cozy, but the two of you were far too eager to spare any patience for a proper tour before locking your bedroom door.

“Wow,” you said afterwards, lying in your bed with nothing but a sheet to cover yourself. He laughed, breathless, pulling the sheet to cover himself a bit more. A lot went through your head as you waited for your pulse to slow, the two of you laying in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Usually for brunch I eat actual food,” Tony joked next to you. “But this was better.”

You laughed, finally catching your breath, and turned your head to look at him.

“You look like you've got a lot to say, hm?”

“I don't usually go for belated seconds,” you said.

“That a rule of yours?”

“Unofficial guideline.”

“I've got the same one,” he said. “Going to someone else's place is another.”

“Funny, because going to my place is unofficial guideline number two,” you joked.

“Well, if I run into you again, we'll just go back to mine instead,” he sat up, and began to collect his clothes and dressed himself again.

“Deal,” you said, not moving from your spot “If.” You just watched lazily as he made himself presentable again and then left with a simple goodbye, neither of you expecting to see the other again anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't forgotten about this story! I promise I won't abandon it with no warning, either!
> 
> It'll probably be just a bit more of a wait for the next chapter again while I finish up my other fic with Spider-Man, Black Light, but unless I get hit with crazy inspo I'll be giving this one my full attention as soon as Black Light is done.


	4. You with the Pure Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stuff it Joey, everyone knows I'm never the sweet one. That's always been you.”  
> He laughed. “You right,” he shook his head. “You might not be sweet, but you're pretty good anyway.”  
> You rolled your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Tony in this chapter, but it's good to get to know the supporting cast a little more right? In this chapter we meet the reader's good friend and art studio neighbor.

Banging on your studio door interrupted your blinded focus on your current work.

“Be right there!” You grabbed a rag to open the door. It was easier than going back to scrape dried clay off the doorknob later, and quicker than washing your hands first. “Hey Joey, what's up?” You greeted the lanky man in your doorway as he pushed his glasses back up his nose, angling his head to look down at you.

“Good god, how are you not deaf?” He asked with a light hint of a southern accent in his voice, raising his voice to be heard over your music.

You laughed. “Need me to turn it down?”

Joey shook his head, golden septum ring flashing in the light. “Nah, I just hit a block 'n' thought I might pay my studio neighbor a visit. Now a good time?”

You shrugged, turning your music down and going to the sink to wash the clay off your hands. “I need a break anyway, almost forgot about lunch.” Hands scrubbed nearly raw, you dried them off. "Wanna call takeout and catch up?”

“Sounds good to me,” Joey smiled, flashing dazzling white teeth against his incredibly deep skin, and you ordered takeout from the place down the road.

“How was your west coast trip?” You asked, sitting on a stool across the worktable from him, slurping pho noodles off your chopsticks. Joey was a much more polite eater, and he swallowed his mouthful before replying.

“It was fuckin' great. Got to go to the SF MOMA, saw the space needle an' shit.”

“Got some new jewelry too,” you said, nodding at the gold loop hanging from his nose. “Gotta admit, looks pretty good on you.” He grinned in response, looking down at his food.

“Thanks. Sort of a whim at the end of the trip, had some leftover money an' Ty got one too.”

“It's looks good. Very artsy on you.”

“Still workin' on your personality sculptures?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you poked at a piece of broccoli floating in the broth. “Got kinda sidetracked, so I had to put everyone I had started on hold.”

He raised eyebrows at you. “What does Laarni call it?”

“'Muse smacked,'” you air quoted.

“Maybe you can help me out then, because I'm stuck bad.”

You nodded. “Show me what you're working on. I need to stretch my legs anyway, even if it's just a walk downstairs.”

Throwing away the now empty containers of takeout, you followed Joey out of your own studio and down the stairs to his. Leaning against one wall were various canvasses, many of them blank stacked together, but several with completed drying portraits, the skin of the subjects alive with rainbows of color and gold leaf and pearls.

“Holy shit Joey, these are coming out amazing!” You said, crouching down to get a better look at one of a tan woman, shirtless with her back to the viewer and looking over her shoulder. Her warm skin was painted in reds and orange-yellows, and Joey had used gold leaf for the highlights. Her long black hair was pulled up into a complicated knot, held in place by sticks decorated with pearls, and she was smiling coyly at the viewer. There were more of the same, various materials mixed with the paint to add unique textures. On Joey's easel was one of a man so pale he might have been a ghost. He was painted in icy blues and deep purples and pastel yellows, almost like a bruise. He was sitting on a stool, also shirtless, and his hair was a vivid orange with what you guessed were copper wires set into the paint, mimicking the flow of individual hairs. He was looking seriously at the viewer, eyes vivid blue like the sky.

“Is that Ty?” You said, standing next to Joey, who nodded. “He looks so... Intense.”

“He's an intense guy,” Joey sighed. “Something is off about the whole series though, I feel like they're too... One dimensional, you know?”

“Well, paintings usually are,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Like they don't show enough. There's something missing.”

You nodded. “Maybe you could do something with the background to add more? Because they're kind of flat backgrounds,” you shrugged. “I dunno. I'm a 3D artist.”

“Nah, that's not a bad suggestion,” Joey said. “You know how it is, after staring at the same shit for hours every day your brain just gets stuck.”

You nodded. “Seriously though, Joey, this is amazing stuff. You really have a way with the colors, and the gold leaf and metals? Genius.”

He grinned. “I'm glad you like it.” He paused. “Would ya wanna pose for one? I mean, you can say no, I know it might be weird-”

“Why, 'cause they're all shirtless? Nothing you haven't seen plenty of before,” you teased him.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah and you know what I mean,” you raised an eyebrow back. “Besides, it's only fair since I'm doing one of my sculptures based on you anyway.”

He seemed surprised. “You are?”

“Of course, dummy. You're one of my best friends.”

“You're too sweet to me, Y/n,” he smiled his honey-sweet smile at you.

“Stuff it Joey, everyone knows I'm never the sweet one. That's always been you.”

He laughed. “You right,” he shook his head. “You might not be sweet, but you're pretty good anyway.”

You rolled your eyes.

Back in your own studio, you returned to your latest piece, becoming lost in the clay fairly quickly. Before you realized it, it had been another nine hours, and the sun was long gone from the sky. You were nearly faint with hunger again, so out of self preservation you called it a day, swinging by the neon twenty-four hour pizza place to get something to bring you back from your dizzy edge. You always got carried away and forgot to take care of yourself when you were 'muse-smacked,' and this time was no exception. You ate as you walked along the sidewalk to the subway, hunger satiated for the moment. At home, you were greeted by an empty apartment and, after kicking off your shoes, you made yourself a box of macaroni, smoked a joint in the bath, and fell asleep in your own bed.

* * *

 

“Morning, Karen,” you said through a yawn as you passed behind her on your way to your desk. “How's it going?”

She glanced back, and then turned to face you with her usual friendly smile. “Good morning. You seem awfully tired this morning.”

“Got carried away at the studio and left pretty late last night,” you explained, switching on your computer.

“Had another billionaire over?” she teased. You chuckled and shook your head.

“No. How are your lawyer friends doing?”

“They're good,” she shrugged, fidgeting with a pen in her long pale fingers. “Busy, but they usually are.”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said, acknowledging her words while you settled in at your desk, shrugging off your jacket and throwing it back to hang on your seat.

Hours later the two of you left the building together to grab lunch. You could tell Karen was distracted, something on her mind. So, naturally, you asked about it as you sat and ate your food together at a small table.

“Hey, I don't mean to be nosy, but are you okay and everything? You seem distracted, like you've got something on your mind,” you watched her face as her eyes darted up to yours and she looked off to the side, and took a moment to collect her thoughts and swallow her food.

“I don't know, it's been weird with Matt,” she quirked the corner of her mouth ruefully. “I think he's going through something he doesn't want to talk to me and Foggy about.”

“And you like him,” you half-asked, half stated.

She blushed and shook her head. “No! I uh,” she looked down at her food. “I like Foggy.”

You grinned. “The funny one with the hair?”

“Leave me alone,” she said. “It feels so dumb, honestly, he's got a weird thing going on with his ex.”

“Ah,” you nodded sagely. “Yeah, that sucks.”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” she sighed. “Tell me something interesting that's going on with you.”

“I'm posing shirtless for my ex friend-with-benefits-slash-art-studio-neighbor so he can do a portrait of me.”

She laughed. “Is he cute?”

You grinned. “Oh, yeah. Joey's great. He's got a little bit of a southern accent, glasses,” Karen made a doubtful expression. “Big gorgeous smile. When we were sleeping together he had these beautiful long locs, but he got rid of 'em, and still looks great. He looks kinda lanky, but he just doesn't know what to do with all that height, but under those clothes,” you bounced your eyebrows up twice. “He's pretty fit, if you know what I mean, and-”

Karen laughed. “Okay, okay, I get it. Why'd you two stop?”

You shrugged. “He met this guy named Ty, super skinny ginger type, and they've had a pretty intense on-and-off again thing. We were only friends with benefits, so, we stopped when something real came along for him.”

“Wait, so he's-?”

“Bi,” you clarified. “And pretty open about it, so he won't mind me telling you.”

“You're full of surprises. I always thought you were a serious-or-nothing kinda person, you're so... Reserved, usually,” she said, echoing her thoughts from when you'd admitted to sleeping with Tony Stark in your studio.

The two of you finished eating and returned to work to finish the day.

* * *

 

“Laarni! I'm home!”

“Y/n!” Laarni greeted you from her own room, before rushing out to greet you. “I feel like I haven't seen you in forever! Let's have a fun roommate's night, I've been spending so much time with Chris I've barely seen you.”

You grinned, shedding your clothes as you walked into your room, shameless. “Night in sound good? I had a late night at the studio last night, and work felt like it took foreveeer,” you looked back at her in your doorway.

“Yes!” She agreed enthusiastically. “I'll make drinks?”

“And snacks,” you said. “I don't have to work tomorrow, so who needs real food?” Laarni left, and you changed into a pair of your more comfortable and presentable pajamas, because knowing Laarni she'd want to take pictures for her Instagram and probably Snapchat too. You heard the cupboards open and close as you tossed your dirty clothes into the basket on the floor, and phone in hand, you left your room to join your roommate.

“What do you want to watch?” She asked, setting drinks and snacks on the coffee table she'd painted.

“Something funny sounds good. You pick,” you suggested as you joined her on the couch.

Laarni picked something out while you poured drinks and started snacking. Laarni took a few selfies of the two of you on the couch with your drinks, posting them to Instagram and tagging you in them.

While the show was playing in the background, Laarni turned to you, putting down her phone. “Alright, let's catch up,” she demanded. “What is new? Did you do anything exciting while I've been distracted?”

You smiled and shook your head. “No, not really. I've just been working on my sculptures and stuff,” you shrugged. “Work is getting really boring, asides from hanging out with Karen,” you added. “Joey asked if I would pose for his portrait series.”

“Ooh! Will you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I'm supposed to go by later tomorrow.”

Laarni nodded. “You're a very good subject to paint, Y/n,” she said, taking a cookie from the package on your lap.

You made a doubtful face. “Am I?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “The painting I did inspired by you sold immediately, did you hear?”

You grinned. “I saw that Tony Stark bought it in the paper, there was an article about the opening night of your show. That's so awesome Laarni.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Have any others sold?”

“Some, but there is a month left of the exhibit,” she said. “So I might still sell more.”

“I hope you do,” you nodded. “So, since you've been spending so much time with Chris, tell me about it!”

She sighed dreamily. “I know it's only been a few weeks, but I'm falling in love,” she said dramatically. “I feel like that song, American Boy, but more romantic. He's showing me so many great things, Y/n,” she looked over at you. “Did you see what he bought me?” She asked, pulling the collar of her shirt aside to show you a gold chain with a small diamond heart hanging from it, casting a few tiny shards of light on her sunset-golden skin.

“Oh my god,” your jaw dropped. “That looks so expensive!”

“I think he really likes me,” she said.

“I think he does too,” you agreed. “Or he's just trying really hard to impress you.”

“It's working,” she laughed, and you couldn't help but join her.

* * *

 

The next day you made sure you were freshly clean before going to the art studio, your hair hidden under a hat. The weather was starting to turn towards spring and all of the melted puddles of snow were gone, but it was windy that day, the kind of weather you had no tolerance for.

“Y/n!” Joey greeted you when you entered his studio. “How's it going? Fun night with Laarni? Saw those Snapchats on her story,” he smiled as you shrugged off your coat and jacket, shedding your hat and piling it all on a chair by the door.

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “Roommate's night,” you explained.

“Nice,” he nodded.

“So, where do you want me?” You asked. “Shirt on or off?”

“Uhhh, off if you don't mind, but you can keep on your bra if you're-”

You had already pulled your shirt over your head by the time he said the word bra, only a slightly transparent bralette on underneath.

“So far I've had everyone sit on a stool and pose. I'm just thinking thumbnails today, so I'll have you do a few poses and I'll pick one from those sketches.”

“Great,” you said, finding the stool he wanted you to sit on and sitting facing him.

“Not like that, come on Y/n. Pose, don't sit.”

You huffed. “Okay, okay.” You turned your head up and to the side, as if looking towards a bird in a tree.

“Maybe cross your arms,” he suggested, and you did. You sat like that for about five minutes, before Joey asked for a new pose. This time you raised an arm straight up, grabbing it with your other one behind your head and looking down. You went through several poses, most facing him, two away, and then you were sitting with your profile to him, leaning back on your hands that gripped the edge of the stool seat. Your legs were relaxed, slightly open and feet perched on the bars between the legs.

“How many more of these do you think-”

“Hold on.” Joey looked like he was seeing something new. “Look at me?” He flipped to a new page, and sketched for a second. “Okay, same pose, but look away, straight ahead.... Okay, now look away, towards where I'm looking.... Okay, look back at me, but this time, I want you to look past me, a little to my side, kinda over your shoulder,” the room was filled with the sound of enthusiastic scribbling and scratching from his charcoal stick on the paper. “Okay,” he looked at you. “I think I've got it. I'm gonna map out the canvass, do you think you could come back again later?”

You nodded. “Yeah, just text me when you're ready,” you stretched and hopped off the stool. “Can I see-?”

“Not yet,” he said, hiding his sketches from you. “Go get dressed, you have your own art to work on, don't you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the next chapter, but I only have a very vague idea about what I wanna do with this story. So, while I figure out what the actual plot is it might be a bit more of a wait, but I promise there's gonna be more!
> 
> I can't tell you how hard it is finding a song title/lyric for each chapter but I started the story with this theme (I mean look at the fic title ffs) and I'll go down with it if I have to. I feel like I should name the songs at the end of the chapter or is that too much?


	5. Nature Will Get Her Way, Though You Took Her for a Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd both completely abandoned your shared first unofficial guideline on repeats. You'd broken unofficial guideline number two, never go to your own place, which for Tony meant never go to the place of someone else. But that night was the first time you both broke unofficial guideline number three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like so far the story hasn't been getting anywhere, but I think things will finally be picking up after this.

You returned to Joey's studio almost every day for the next few weeks to pose for him, all the while Laarni's trip to France drew ever closer, only a few weeks away. Life was as normal as ever when spring came around. The snow had officially stopped falling, now it only rained lightly now and then, and the sun had begun to make more frequent cameos in the sky.

It was a Sunday when you ran into Tony Stark again. The sky was cloudy and blindingly white, and you were passing a tall building that looked like it was made completely of mirrors. You briefly noticed the two men standing by the doors and the velvet rope and a sign that advertised whatever event was happening inside. You were reading the words science conference and special guest when the doors opened and a small throng of people poured out. You quickened your pace to get past the building and out of the way, when you heard the name of one of the men the reporters were trying to steal the attention of.

“Tony Stark, Tony Stark! What else can you tell us about-”

“Mr. Stark, what about the theory that-”

“Is there any way the Iron Man suit could play a part-”

You flipped your gaze from the ground back to the small gaggle of reporters that were approaching, led by none other than Tony Stark himself. He noticed you moments after your eyes found him, and he paused in the middle of putting on his sunglasses to shoot you a blinding grin.

“I'm afraid I can't answer any additional questions about my work at this time, gentlemen, ladies,” he said. “If you don't mind, I have a friend waiting-” he started over towards you, and the reporters briefly lost interest, focusing on the other man and woman who had just come out of the doors.

You fought the urge to grin at him, and after a brief internal struggle, failed.

“Well,” he said. “I certainly wasn't expecting to see you here today.”

“Yeah, well,” you paused, shaking your head and blowing air out of your nose in a small chuckle. “I wasn't really expecting to see you again anywhere but on TV,” you admitted.

“You know what this means,” he said.

“What?”

He leaned in and whispered. “We're both so good the universe just keeps throwing us at each other.” He glanced at you and pulled back to see your reaction.

You laughed, and nodded, and started to open your mouth to reply.

It seemed a handful of the reporters noticed the two of you talking, and immediately descended on the two of you.

“Tony, Tony, who's your friend?”

“Let's go,” he said, putting his hand on the back of your arm and guiding you away from the barrage and towards his car that had just pulled up. “Just a good friend, fellas, it's always good to know an artist.” He deflected the questions, opening the passenger car door for you for you to climb in and shut the door behind you. Ignoring the reporters he tipped the valet and waving at the reporters he got into the drivers seat, speeding off.

“Well,” you said, pushing your sunglasses up. “That was intense, thank you.”

He glanced at you. “You're welcome. I think we agreed my place last time, still up for it?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Tony's tower, current part-time residence for the Avengers, was amazing. Every surface was clean and simple and oozing money. You didn't know it was physically possible for bedsheets to be as soft as the ones on Tony's bed.

* * *

 

“I like your place,” you said, catching your breath and pulling a sheet up over yourself. “Very, uh, extravagant.”

Tony let out a full laugh, laying on his back and touching the glowing blue reactor embedded in his chest with the tip of his fingers, seemingly subconsciously. You grinned and laughed, his amusement contagious. Breath finally caught, you sat up and turned away to find your clothes, taking your sheet with you. You could feel Tony's dissecting eyes following you, and heard him get off the bed as you picked your underwear up off the floor and put it back on. You turned to start hunting for the rest of your clothes when Tony came up closer to you, dressed in his own underwear as well. You stopped and waited, watching him while he seemed to decide something, staring right back at you.

“What?” You finally asked.

“I think I should get your number,” he said, blunt as Thor's hammer.

“Why?” You were slightly taken aback.

“We keep running into each other,” he gestured between the two of you. “And we're brilliant in bed.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, doubtful.

“You seem doubtful.” He was perceptive.

“I don't want to become known for fucking Tony Stark,” you said, turning away and finding your pants. “It doesn't look good.”

“You didn't strike me as that type.”

“What, the type to care about my career?” You zipped up your pants, turned toward him and tossed the sheet back onto his thoroughly messy bed, now only missing your shirt. “I don't have much else going for me, and I'm not quite looking for a sugar daddy.”

“What about a good booty call?” He offered. “No strings attached, we just give the other one a ring when we're in the mood. Besides, what's more classic than an artist having a slightly controversial affair? And with a superhero, come on, that's a pretty small list. We'll keep it quiet, you know, figuratively speaking. Reveal the story when you're in your sixties in your autobiography, if I'm still around and kicking we can do a whole talk show bit about it, Carrie Fisher style.”

You huffed an amused breath of hair through your nose, holding eye contact while you mulled it over. “Well aren't you modest.”

“Look, you're a fun time. And I know you won't get weird because we have the same style, that's hard to find.”

You shrugged. “Okay,” you grabbed your phone off the floor where it had fallen out of your pants pocket. “Give me your number, then. I'll call.”

He rattled off the digits. “And if you give that number out, I'll sue the hell out of you,” he joked.

You grinned. “I won't, if you help me find my damn shirt.”

* * *

 

For the next week you were completely drowning in work, and on top of that, posing for Joey. The two of you took turns buying the other one food or coffee on the days you posed for him, the weather settling into a breezy spring warmth.

You were stuck, your brain crawling in mud. Nothing was coming out of the clay, it just sat there staring at you. Even your go-to eighties playlist couldn't knock you out of your artist's block, the rough guitar strums and smooth voices swirling around the studio.

You checked your phone for the time, sighing at the ones running across the lock screen. You opened it, pulling up the contacts, and scrolled through to the T section, finding the newest addition, and hit dial.

It rang five times before the last ring was abruptly interrupted by a skip of static and a voice.

“Is this who I think it is?”

“If you think it's the artist you gave your number to last week, then yes.”

“I'm sorry, which artist would that be? You'll have to jog my memory-”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I'm at my studio, do you want to come here or should I go there?”

A pause. “You come here,” he said. “I'll send a car-”

You heard a muffled voice in the background, a man, asking Tony who he was talking to.

“I'll take a cab,” you said. “Do you really just send out cars to pick up your flings?”

“Sure, all the time.”

“And your company won't mind me distracting you for a few hours?”

“Oh, they'll survive without me.”

You called a cab, locking up the studio and waiting out front for it to show up, playing with your phone, grinning at the texts from Tony saying what he had planned for the night.

“Y/n!”

You turned around to see Joey exiting the studio building. “Joey, hey!” You locked your phone and slipped it into your pocket, smiling at him, face still pink from the rather creative and graphic text you'd just received.

“Where are you off to?” He asked.

“Oh, uh,” you paused. “Nowhere important really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

You shrugged, your phone beeping in your pocket. “Just this guy I've been hanging out with.”

“Hanging out?” He questioned, surprised. “Like hanging out or _hanging out?_ ” He punctuated with a wink.

“We're hooking up,” you shrugged.

“Is he picking you up?”

“No, I'm taking a cab.”

Joey frowned.

“He wanted to send a car, but-”

“Oh my god, do you have a sugar daddy?!”

“Well, there's no sugar involved, so no,” you laughed.

“Is he rich? Famous? Who is it?”

“Yes, yes, and not telling. You'll have to wait for my dramatic autobiography reveal when I'm old and rich, just like everyone else.”

“What if I die before then?” He pressed with playful seriousness as your cab pulled up and you started to get in.

“Well, then,” you said, sitting in the back. “At least you'll know I was heading to the Avengers Tower,” you closed the door, rolling the window down.

“Are you fucking a superhero?! Y/n I swear to god you better not be messing with me, if it's Captain America you _have_ to tell me-”

You laughed. “Bye Joey! Sir, if you could take me to the Avengers Tower?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

When you got to the tower Jarvis let you in, taking you straight to Tony's personal floor just one level below the common living space at the top. The elevator opened straight into the penthouse, and this time you actually took a second to look at everything. Black leather furniture, big TV, clean surfaces. You wandered to the fridge, the kitchen space separated from the living room space by a small island counter, and found a bottle of Gatorade in your favorite flavor. You set your purse on the counter, and opened the bottle, taking a big drink. You were thirstier than you'd thought, having forgotten to drink enough water when you were at the studio. Mid gulp, the elevator doors opened and in came Tony Stark.

“Well, I guess I don't need to tell you to make yourself at home,” he practically sauntered over.

“Just getting my electrolytes,” you put the bottle down. “I think I'm going to need it tonight if you're really planning on doing to me what you said.”

He grinned. “Oh, you have no idea.”

* * *

 

At first, you only went over every week or so. And then twice a week. And then two or three times a week. Of course, you'd both set rules, so you never stayed longer than half an hour afterwards making small talk, flirting as you would make yourself presentable again. You never ran into anyone in his tower, and you suspected Jarvis behind it, protecting your privacy, as well as Tony's. And then it was the tail end of Spring, and Laarni was leaving for France.

“Oh, Y/n, I'm going to miss you! I can't believe I'm going to be gone a whole month,” she hugged you tightly, bags packed and out in the car outside where Christopher was waiting to take her to the airport. “I'm so nervous.”

“Laarni, it's going to be fine! You can call me any time, and don't worry about the time difference. Okay?”

“You have the worst sleep schedule,” she said, sniffling.

“Come on, I'll walk you out to the car.”

Arms looped together you went with Laarni out to the car, and she hugged you one more time.

“Promise you'll call if anything interesting happens here?” She asked.

“Of course! We'll talk at least once a week while you're gone even if nothing does, promise,” you reassured her. “Plus, Chris is going to be in France with you for his movie, you won't be completely alone there. It's going to be great.”

“Laarni, we're gonna miss the flight,” Chris called, waving at you with a smile.

“Okay, okay, right,” she let go of you and smiled, eyes watery. “It's only a month. And you'll be fine here?”

“I'm much more independent than you think I am, Laarni,” you continued to reassure her. “I got this. Focus on your residency.”

She nodded. “Right. Okay.” She started to get into the car. “Bye, Y/n! I'll let you know when we land.”

You waved. “Bye, Laarni, bye Chris!”

They both waved and then Laarni drove off with Chris, leaving you on the sidewalk in front of the apartment.

* * *

 

You quickly realized that a perpetually empty apartment was lonely, so you started spending most of your time at the studio working on your sculptures, often taking breaks from your larger ones to just play around with clay scraps, making tiny little garbage cans and people just to smash them and turn them into little packs of clay cigarettes and then hearts and kissing couples and eyes.

That got old soon, too, so you tried to spend more time with Joey, and maybe even Karen, but Karen had two jobs and something mysterious and dramatic lurking under the surface of her rosy cheeked smile, and you didn't want to disturb whatever that was because you weren't _that_ bored and you knew you'd be the worst to help her with whatever it was, and Joey had his own work and Ty. But still, he never kicked you out of his studio when you came by.

“Your routine is just thrown off,” he said, passing your joint back. You were posing for him again, smoking topless in his studio with the windows open. “You need to get out more, make more friends,” he said, mixing colors on his palette.

“I don't need more friends, I'm just bored,” you sighed, breathing out the smoke.

“More friends would mean more people to entertain you,” he explained, teasing voice as he looked at you and began painting, focused on translating how you looked onto the canvass.

“Whatever,” you said, flicking ash at him.

“You could just call up your superhero booty call whenever you're bored. Find something to make you un-bored. Walk around town, go to the club, go to shows. There's a lot going on in the city.”

You shrugged. He was right.

“Smoke with your other hand for a minute, I need that arm.”

So you started trying to find more things to do. You went to a show with Joey and Ty and then decided to never do that again when they got into a fight over Ty being rude about something and left you alone to go talk it out somewhere quieter. The charm of the show lost, you went into the bathroom to wash your hands and call a ride, when your phone rang.

It was Tony, which was unusual for a Saturday night, but it was a booty call, which was standard.

“I know it's late on a Saturday, but you should come by. I can't stop thinking about that thing you did last week-”

You grinned. “I was just leaving a show, I'll come by before I go home.”

“Perfect.”

Once again Jarvis directed you straight to Tony's floor, avoiding every other person that might be in the building. His apartment—penthouse, really, smelled particularly good this time.

“Am I smelling... Food?” You asked, dropping your purse onto the couch and shedding your jacket to reveal a tanktop.

“I've got leftover takeout in the fridge if you'd like some before we get to business,” Tony came up behind you, placing his hands on your hips and kissing your shoulder.

“Maybe a bite or two after,” you leaned into him, and let him guide you towards his room.

The only bites you got that night ended up being from Tony, and you were so exhausted from your long night that you fell asleep almost immediately after you both finished.

He didn't exactly cuddle up to you, but he didn't kick you out either.

You'd both completely abandoned your shared first unofficial guideline on repeats. You'd broken unofficial guideline number two, never go to your own place, which for Tony meant never go to the place of someone else. But that night was the first time you both broke unofficial guideline number three, and arguably the most important: _never_ stay the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiled, waving it off with a hand, neither confirming or denying. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/n.”
> 
> “You too, Matt. Hopefully we'll meet again sometime.”
> 
> “Hopefully.”

You woke the next morning in your usual sleeping position, half covered by a blanket so soft it was almost surreal. You hummed quietly and shifted, rolling slightly.

“Good morning, Miss Y/l/n.”

You jolted upright, scrambling for a blanket to cover your chest.

“Good fucking god, Jarvis,” you scolded the omnipresent AI. “You could've given me a heart attack.”

“My apologies, miss. I didn't mean to startle you.”

You looked around the empty bedroom, curtains still drawn. You could see a sliver of sunlight peeking through and hitting the floor.

“Jarvis, what time is it?”

“It is just after nine A.M., miss. Mr. Stark is eating in the next room. He has instructed me to tell you not to take any of his shirts.”

“Of course he did,” you rolled your eyes and began the search for your clothes. Once dressed somewhat decently, you left the bedroom. Just as Jarvis had said, Tony was sitting on his couch eating a bowl of cereal with the news playing quietly on the TV. He looked up, and his eyes met yours.

“G'morning, sunshine,” he said with a mouth half full of cereal.

“It's nine A.M. Why didn't you wake me up last night?”

“You seemed pretty exhausted.”

“We have rules,” you said, frowning slightly. “We agreed.”

“Unofficial guidelines,” he corrected you, mouth still full, and then swallowed his food. “Guidelines aren't set in stone, besides, one time won't kill either of us.”

“If I fall asleep again, you're allowed to wake me up.” You passed him to the second couch where your bag and jacket still sat, undisturbed.

“There's coffee if you need it. Take some food with ya,” Tony said, glancing at you and ignoring your comment. “My nutritionist keeps buying me these god awful energy bars. They're in the cabinet by the fridge with the other snacky shit, you'd be doing me a favor if you ate them.”

Pulling on your jacket, you went to the kitchen and found the bars where he said they would be. “What are you talking about?” You asked, incredulous. They were your favorite brand. “These are literally the best energy bars in the entire world.”

“Well, then, they're yours from now on,” he said, not looking away from the TV.

You helped yourself to a mug of coffee, fixing it how you liked and sipping at it leisurely while you snacked on the bar. “Mind if I take another for the road?”

“Please,” he said, and you dropped a few more in your bag. “Do whatever you want with 'em.”

“Are there people in the building?”

“Yeah, but Jarvis will help you out without getting bothered.” He'd finished his bowl and brought it into the kitchen, placing it in the sink. “Well, as best he can. You'll be fine.” You watched him, leaning on the counter out of his way, not that there wasn't more than enough space for the both of you—his kitchen was nearly as big as the living room you shared with Laarni.

“Great. I'll see you next time, then?”

He leaned against the counter by the sink and held a wordless hand out for your mug. You handed it over, and headed towards the door after a pause.

“Hey, Y/n,” he said before you got to the door. You paused and looked back at him, hand on the handle. “Don't miss this fine ass too much,” he said cheekily, with a grin.  
“Something tells me you'll miss mine more, Mr. Stark,” you said with a wink and then left, closing the door on his laugh.

True to Tony's word, Jarvis ensured you made it away from the private levels without seeing a soul. Once you got down to the lobby, however, you were greeted by a mellow bustle, but you made it out without a hassle.

Stepping out of the door, you stepped to the curb to hail a cab. When one finally pulled over a man jumped for it, and he disregarded your presence entirely.

“Hey, excuse me, but what the fuck?!”

“Wha-” he turned around, and surprised eyebrows jumped from their home on his forehead practically into his hairline. “I'm so sorry, I didn't see—wait, Y/n?”

Your stomach dropped.

It was your ex.

“This is my cab, asshole,” you pushed past him and slid into the back seat, leaning forward to speak to the driver; “Please start driving.”

“Wait, Y/n-?”

You slammed the door shut, yanking the door out of his grip just as the cab pulled away. You waited until you turned the corner to let your tense body turn into stressed jello and released a heavy breath. Opening your eyes, your glance met the curious gaze of the driver.

“Ex,” you said.

“Ah,” he nodded sagely. “So, where to then?”

* * *

 

The next morning you woke at nine-thirty, two hours after your alarm was supposed to go off.

“Oh, fuck!” You rolled out of bed, scrambling out of tangled sheets towards the bathroom, rushing through only about half of your morning routine and throwing on your easiest outfit before running out the door, reading through all of Karen's missed texts asking where you were.

You were two and a half hours late to work.

“Y/n!” Karen hissed as you tried to sneak into your seat. “What happened?”

“Bad morning-”

“Y/l/n!”

You whipped your head up, eyes finding the serious face of your superior.

“My office now, please, if it's not too much trouble.”

Karen's wide eyes followed you as you took a deep breath and made the walk of shame across the floor to the office.

“Sir, I'm so sorry-”

A waving hand shushed you.

“Y/l/n, it's not a huge deal if you're a little late a few times. But two hours? It's unacceptable.”

Oh, god, this was it. You couldn't even meet his eyes.

“I would let it slide, however, if things weren't the way they are right now. You've been an excellent worker so far, you've only been late one other time, and that was only three minutes. Clearly something happened today-”

You started to open your mouth.

“-But it doesn't really matter. We're downsizing already, cutting jobs that can be shared by others, you know the gist. This was already going to happen whether you were late or not, I do want to make that clear. We have to let you go, I'm sorry.”

Your head hung low as you walked back to your desk to collect your things.

“Y/n, what happened?”

You shook your head, clearing out the drawers. “Downsizing. I was let go.”

“Oh, god, Y/n-”

Your things collected, you looked at her.

“Look, after work, I'm meeting Matt and Foggy for a few drinks, you should come. It'll be our treat. Josie's, I'll text you the time. Okay?”

“I'll think about it. Thanks, Karen,” you smiled, albeit quite sadly, and made your way to the elevator. You weren't one much for crying, but as soon as the doors slid shut and you saw the reflection of yourself in the doors holding a sad cardboard box of your things from your desk you couldn't stop yourself, and the tears started to flow.

Once the elevator stopped you quickly pulled it together, walked out the building and hailed a cab, mind already jumping forward to job hunting. You had enough in your bank that you would be okay for a month or so, but you didn't want it to come to that. You'd have to start job hunting immediately if you wanted to minimize the financial damage. Or... You could just leave it, focus completely on your art and try to sell it.

You arrived home and left the cardboard box on the kitchen table, immediately moving on to treat yourself to a shower and then a smoke by the window, mulling over your options ad nauseum--until your phone went off, pulling you back to the present. It was Karen.

* * *

 

Josie's was a gritty biker bar all the way out in Hell's Kitchen, with a parking lot of loose cracked cement and two big windows proudly displaying the name, one in painted golden letters and the other in glowing orange. You could see smoky air inside taking on the color of the lights inside the bar. You were surprised Karen's friends came here as often as her stories implied. But, of course, you should have known better than to expect anything other than the unexpected from lawyers.

You went in through the single door, nose greeted by an astounding combination of smells. Smoke, beer, liquor, a faint hint of body odor, and too many other subtle things mixing underneath to name. It was dim inside the bar, but the trouble of finding Karen was saved when she found you first.

“Y/n!” She called, pale ghost of a hand shooting into the air to grab your attention. “Back here!”

You weaved your way towards the back where Karen sat with two men at a small table with an open seat.

“Is this for me? You saved a seat?”

“Of course!”

You beamed, unbuttoning your coat and sitting by the wall next to Karen. Next to her was a man with a soft face and grown out hair—Foggy, you guessed from her descriptions. You offered your hand across the table to shake, introducing yourself.

“Hi, I'm Y/n.”

“Foggy Nelson,” he smiled, friendly, and shook your hand.

Directly across from you was another man, dark hair, very faint stubble, deep wine colored glasses and a cane leaned against the table.

“So that must make you Matt,” you smiled.

He returned it with a soft chuckle through his nose, putting his hand out to shake. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you know, process of elimination,” you joked, shaking his hand.

Drink now in hand, courtesy of Foggy, the four of you started chatting. Foggy was fairly expressive, the sort of friend to do his best to keep things fun and uplifting. He had a surprising amount of depth that he wasn't showing, but you could see hints, and you could see why Karen liked him. Your analyzing of Foggy complete, you turned to observing Matt. He would laugh and smile and participate, but you could tell he was holding something back. You knew he was blind, Karen had said so, and his glasses and cane further confirmed it. But he moved with precision and a level of spacial awareness you were quickly losing with each drink and it fascinated you, even though you knew it was just a lifetime of practice.

“So, Y/n, Karen said you're an artist,” Matt spoke up as everyone was catching their breath from one of Foggy's jokes.

You couldn't miss Foggy's dramatic eye roll and shared look with Karen. You raised an eyebrow at them and turned to Matt. “Yes,” you confirmed. “Why did Foggy roll his eyes when you asked me that?”

“He probably thinks I'm going to use a conversation about art to try and pick you up,” Matt said honestly. “I promise, I won't.”

“Why, am I not your type?” You feigned dramatic insult.

Karen rolled her eyes and gave Foggy a look, whispering something which made Matt's mouth quirk in a smile.

“I'm blind, I don't exactly have a type.”

“Ohhh, shut up!” Foggy interjected. “You have a sixth sense for picking out women” he turned to you. “You're exactly his type, watch out-”

“She is? Good to know,” Matt grinned, half teasing Foggy. “Anyway, Y/n, I was going to ask what you make.”

“Sculpture,” you replied. “Multi-media sculpture.”

“Of?”

“Well, I'm doing an abstract series right now, based on different people I know.”

“It sounds interesting. Tell me about one of them.”

“The people, or the sculptures?”

“The sculptures.”

“Oh, well, I'm not so good at the describing, I'm better at the making.”

“Hm. Karen, have you ever seen them?”

“No,” Karen shook her head. “She apparently doesn't let anyone in her studio except her artist friend Joey.”

“Ah. Boyfriend?” Matt asked.

“Ex fling, now good friend,” you explained. “I'm not really in the... Relationship... Market.”

“Hm.” Matt hummed softly as if he understood.

And then you all proceeded to get absolutely trashed.

You would have loved to go home with Matt, you really would have, but something was holding you back. You had just helped a drunk Karen into a cab with an equally drunk Foggy, and now here you stood drunkenly feeling up a drunk Matt, hand lightly grazing over his chest as his own drifted up your side under your coat, standing close enough to feel the breath of the other but never kissing.

He must have picked up on your hesitation, because his hand stilled and he pulled it back, and you pulled your own hands away.

“I'm sorry,” you searched his face for disappointment, and found none.

He nodded. “It's alright, don't be sorry.”

“Just, Karen's starting to be a good friend and-”

“You don't need to explain, I promise it's fine.”

A cab pulled up.

“Is that a cab?”

“Yeah, go ahead-”

“No, I'm going to go take a short walk.”

“Is that safe?”

“I'm more capable than I look.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-” you winced at your patronization. “That must drive you crazy. Sorry.”

He smiled, waving it off with a hand, neither confirming or denying. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/n.”

“You too, Matt. Hopefully we'll meet again sometime.”

“Hopefully.”

You climbed into the cab, watching Matt start to walk as you drove away.

“Where can I take you?”

You tapped your fingers on your thigh, pausing. “Avengers Tower, please,” you said as you opened your phone, dialing Tony.

“Well, what can I do for you on this fine Monday night?” Tony answered on the fourth ring.

“Are you busy?”

* * *

 

You were exceptionally more sober when you arrived at the tower, though no less excited to see Tony for some good old-fashioned distraction from your woes. Stepping into the elevator, Jarvis greeted you.

“Hello again, Miss.”

“Hey Jarvis,” you looked up towards the ceiling, as if that's where he lived. “Can you take me to Tony?”

“Of course.”

Jarvis didn't take you to Tony's private floor, however. Instead, the elevator dropped you off in a sleek shiny white hall directly across from sleek white doors that slid out of your way as you approached.

“You got here quicker than I thought,” Tony's voice greeted you from halfway across the room.

“Miss Y/l/n arrived right on time, sir, you were just distracted.”

“Holy shit,” your eyes roamed over the room. “Is this your workshop?”

“Yup,” he popped the 'p.' “Impressed?”

Gadgets, half assembled suits, wires, tools, and who knows what else were scattered around on various surfaces. Tony was walking towards you from his spot at a desk where clear glass computer screen displays sat by 3D holograms that slowly rotated. You stared.

“Yes,” you looked at him, eyes wide. “Should I even be allowed in here?”

He shrugged, thumbs in his pockets. “Probably not.”

Your eyes caught on some black grease on his arm. You stepped forward, quirking an eyebrow and wiping at it with a finger.

Curious and pleasantly confused, he just watched your hand and then his eyes darted back to yours when you held the now greasy finger up. “Looks like you need a shower. Would you like some help?”

His eyebrows shot up, mouth splitting into an excited grin that you returned, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the elevator.

* * *

 

After the shower, the both of you donned Tony's fluffy bathrobes and you went to raid the kitchen, Tony watching you from his spot leaned against the counter as you put food together.

“So, I don't normally ask something like this, but you look like something's wrong. Didn't like that thing in the shower? I knew it was a little risky, but...”

You looked back at him from your spot at the stove, his eyes sharp and analyzing. You shook your head and forced a small breathy laugh. “No, no, the thing in the shower was fine.”

“ _Just_ fine?”

“It was good, don't get your panties in a twist.”

“You and I both know I'm not wearing any panties. So, what's eating you then?”

You sighed and wrinkled your nose in a light grimace, hesitant to really have a conversation about this with your casual affair. “I, uh, I lost my job. The paper was downsizing, I was only part-time.”

“I didn't realize you worked at a paper,” he seemed surprised. “You're a journalist?”

“Copy editor, I just checked facts and fixed spelling, grammar, whatever. I was just there to lighten the load for the full-time people.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” The two of you stood in silence for a minute.

“Do you need-?”

“I don't need help, Tony.” You cut him off sharply, looking back at him again to make sure he was getting the message. “I don't need a sugar daddy. I've talked about this, I don't want any part of my story to be attributed to the generosity of some rich guy I fucked, it's gotta be me on my own.”

Tony held your gaze though, and you were the first one to look away.

“Not that you're just some rich guy I'm fucking,” you shrugged, back to him again, and you could practically feel his eyes on you. “You're a good guy, who happens to be rich, who I happen to be fucking.”

He chuckled behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this done for a bit but my laptop's been acting up so I couldn't post it! But here it is!
> 
> tbqh i think I'm going to give up on naming the chapters, it's too tiring finding a song lyric each time, so no more chapter titles sorry T.T
> 
> but in other good news i think im breaking past my writer's block so!! more of this story sooner hopefully!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ty came to pick both of you up in his cousin's car a few hours after the sun had gone down. He was dressed in a deep blue velvet suit, his mask sat on his lap, a sky blue and seafoam green piece with a band to hold it in place, the temples adorned with faux pearls and silver glitter. His hair was a vivid orange in the warm light of the car's interior.

It had been a week since you lost your job, and you were spending every waking moment you could at the studio, trying to finish your handful of works in progress. Joey would stop by every once in a while to chat and hang out, and you popped over once to pose one more time so he could get your eyes right.

It was a Thursday when Tony called again. It was late and you were already leaving the studio, exhausted, but you were eager to find out what surprise he said he had for you. It turned out to be handcuffs and body chocolate.

As thorough as Tony was with cleaning off the chocolate, you still hopped off to the shower soon after, taking your time relaxing in the spacious bathroom. Helping yourself to Tony's moisturizer—at least the man knew how to take care of his skin—you wrapped yourself up in one of the bathrobes and went back to his room to get your clothes. Tony was laying quietly in his bed, partly covered by a sheet, and you briefly noticed he looked tense.

“Tony, you okay?”

He didn't answer. Looking closer, you saw that he was asleep, and tried to move more quietly through the room. There was a groan, and he moved slightly, a deep frown on his face.

“Nnnnghhh.....”

You paused, pants in your hands, watching him. His arm twitched and he jolted awake, sitting up in a dramatic way you'd only seen before in movies.

“Tony?”

“Y/n,” he was breathing deeply, and his voice was forcedly nonchalant. “Hey, I'm just-”

“You're hyperventilating-” you dropped your pants and moved closer, getting onto the bed. “Are you okay?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut turning away so his legs were over the side of his bed, hanging his head and grabbing the bedsheets. His back was to you and you could see every muscle in his body clenching and his shoulders heaving.

“Tony,” You moved closer. “Shh, it's okay. It's okay. I'm going to put my hand on your back, okay? Is that okay?”

He didn't respond.

“If it's not okay, just let me know or push me off, okay?” Softly, you rested a hand on the left side of his back, scooting closer so you were sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, legs tucked underneath you. You put your other hand on his tense arm. “Breath, it's okay. Deep breath in,” you took a deep breath in, hoping he would copy. “Deep breath out. Deep breath in,” you took a deep slow breath, Tony followed your example and drew a deep, stuttering breath. “Deep breath out,” you blew the air out slowly through your nose, rubbing his back, and he breathed out. You repeated this several times until he was calm, but shaky. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He shook his head. “Thank you. Sorry for-”

“Don't apologize, happens to Laarni all the time.”

He wasn't looking at you, but his muscles were relaxed, and you were still rubbing his back.

“Do you need anything?” You asked softly, looking at him.

Suddenly he yanked himself away from you, standing with the sheet. He snapped at you, “I'm fine. You don't need to start acting like a doting girlfriend.”

Shocked, you stared for a moment, before you stood up to grab your things and aggressively dressed. “You know what, fuck you, Stark. I was just trying to be a nice fucking person to the guy I've been fucking for two and a half months, but whatever! I guess being decent when someone has a fucking panic attack means you're suddenly an annoying needy little girl!” You buttoned your pants—somehow violently—and pulled on your shirt.

“That's not what I-”

“Fuck off, that's clearly what you meant.” You grabbed your coat and stormed out, slamming the front door on your way out. You were furious the whole way home.

* * *

 

“This-” you grabbed a fistful of clay, “fucking,” you ripped it off of the piece you were working on, “piece-” you threw it down on the table, grabbing another fistful, “of-” you threw that one too, “SHIT!”

There was a soft rapping on your door. “Hey, everythin' okay?”

“Fuck,” you grumbled, wiping your hands off on your smock. “Come in, Joey!”

The door opened and Joey looked in, cautiously scoping out the studio with a sweeping gaze before entering through the door. “Uh, what's goin' on in here?”

You shrugged, turning on your stool. “Art.”

“That doesn't look like art,” he looked pointedly at the dismembered clay figure on your table. “That looks like a temper tantrum.”

You laughed, rubbing your face and smearing a good chunk of clay on it in the process. “Fuck. Yeah, you got me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed and wrinkled your nose. “Uh, not really.”

“C'mon, tell me what's goin' on.”

You hesitated, grabbing the chunks of clay you'd thrown and gathering them into a ball. “You know that guy I've been seeing?”

“You're still-?”

“Yeah, well, I dunno. I was at his place a few nights ago, and he woke up and had a panic attack and I calmed him down and then he snapped at me when I asked if he needed anything, said I was acting like someone's doting girlfriend, and I got pissed because I'm not like that and he knows that and I was just being a decent fucking person-”

“What did you do?”

“I cussed him out and left. We haven't talked since.”

“Well, if you want, it sounds like you could use a fun night out. Ty's cousin just opened a pretty fancy place and said Ty could bring a few friends. You in?”

“What kind of place?”

“I dunno, fancy. Gonna be some big names there, I guess. Opening night is a masquerade theme.”

“Do you already have masks?

He shook his head. “Ty has one, but I don't.”

“I'll make some for both of us. You ever done paper mache?”

* * *

 

Ty came to pick both of you up in his cousin's car a few hours after the sun had gone down. He was dressed in a deep blue velvet suit, his mask sat on his lap, a sky blue and seafoam green piece with a band to hold it in place, the temples adorned with faux pearls and silver glitter. His hair was a vivid orange in the warm light of the car's interior.  
“Well don't you both look just glorious,” he smiled, looking you both up and down as you took your seats in the back of the car. Once seated, the driver pulled away. “Great masks, those'll be a hit tonight.”

“Y/n made them earlier,” Joey smiled, his teeth as white as his shirt.

“Well done Y/n,” he nodded in approval. “So, what are your themes?”

“I'm guessing yours is the ocean,” you quirked an eyebrow, Ty nodded. “Well, you know how good Joey looks in gold. I made him a phoenix.”

Joey smiled, holding his mask up, it was metallic gold with amber colored sequins and red feathers flat around the eyes.

“And you?”

“Well, I only have the one fancy black dress, so it was kind of tough-”

“I told her to be the night sky,” Joey said holding up your mask. It was black with fine sparkles scattered across the surface, and one of the eyes was the center of a silvery four-pointed star. There was a crescent moon around the other one, curving from the outer edge of your browbone, across the temple, and ending on the cheekbone.

“Well, that explains the body glitter,” Ty joked, gesturing at your collarbone. “I'm impressed. Did those even have time to dry?”

“I have a hairdryer in the studio. It's multi-functional,” you joked, taking your mask back from Joey and putting it on.

The car finally pulled up in front of the building, greeted by a healthy throng of reporters and photographers. Joey and Ty donned their masks.

“Ready?” Ty asked, turning to you and Joey.

Joey nodded, and Ty squeezed his knee. Ty exited the car first, holding the door open for Joey and then for you. You slid out carefully, mindful of your long skirt as the camera flashes went off.

“Pretty good turnout,” Ty commented, waving at the cameras as he led the way to the door, past the waiting line of hopeful clubgoers in their own store-bought masks.

“No kidding,” Joey said, flashing his charming smile. You were focusing on just getting past the noise.

“Tyler! Tyler who're your friends?!”

“Tyler! Who's the girl with you?!”

Ty greeted the door security then you were inside, the camera flashes gone, and the three of you were in a red lobby. A man was waiting at the elevator, and he let the three of you in. Ty pressed a button, the doors closed, and you started going up.

“You weren't kidding about this place being fancy,” you said dryly.

“Just wait until we get to the party,” Ty said.

“Let me guess, glamorous and fancy too?”

“Glamorous, maybe. Fancy, not so much.”

The elevator stopped with a soft ding and you could feel the bass on the other side of the door.

“What kind of club is this?” Joey asked.

The doors opened and you were greeted by a large dim room. Glittering lights, sparkling chandeliers, ornate walls, and-

“Are those people dancing in cages?” You had to yell over the music.

“Yes ma'am,” Ty grinned. “Drinks?”

You and Joey both nodded, Joey averted his eyes, but you couldn't help but stare. Hanging in cages around the room were a number of barely dressed people in red masks writhing and twisting against the bars.

“It's like—I feel like we're in Moulin Rouge,” you yelled to Joey.

“I wouldn't be surprised if that was the point,” he yelled back.

You looped your arm with his so you wouldn't get separated as you followed Ty to the bar. The center of the room was a smooth dance floor, and part of the back wall was dedicated to a drink bar. Set into the wall were raised VIP booths, not unlike the one's you'd sat in at Volcano with Laarni and Chris, but with a touch more sophistication and cleanliness, and the arch over the booth was decorated with ornate gold molding. There were tables scattered all around the edge of the dance floor and between the floor and the bar.

“Our booth is there,” Ty pointed at an empty one directly under a caged dancer. “I'll meet you guys there.”

Ty split off for the bar as you headed for the booth, weaving around some dancers.

“Well, this wasn't what I was expecting,” you laughed as you sat, able to see whole the whole room, all the way to the door, from the raised booth.

Joey simply shook his head. “I uh, I was expecting something a little more...”

“Tame?” You suggested, nodding at the dance floor.

“Yeah. I thought rich people were a little stuffier.”

“Everybody has to let loose somehow, I guess this is it.”

“What do you guys think?” Ty appeared, drinks in hand.

“It's different than what we thought,” Joey passed you your drink from Ty.

Ty laughed.

It didn't take long for the mood to escalate on the dance floor with the help of the gifted bartenders. In the course of an hour it devolved from tame casual dancing to people mimicking the caged dancers and grinding and twisting together. A few more of Ty's friends arrived and joined the three of you in the booth, and after your second drink you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

You had a brief struggle with your skirt in the stall, but by some miracle you had the bathroom entirely to yourself. You washed your hands and readjusted your mask, double checking your skirt to make sure it was falling properly again, and exited—only to run right into a man passing the door on the way to the men's room.

“Sorry darling-”

You looked up to find a gold and red mask, with round brown eyes showing through the holes.

You moved to sidestep him, but an arm stopped you.

“Y/n?”

“The one and only, Mr. Stark.”

He pulled a face under his plaster Iron Man mask and sighed. “Listen, I was thinking-”

You turned towards him.

“I didn't mean what I said the other night.”

You paused. “Really.”

“Really,” he insisted. “And I'd like to make it up to you.”

“Look, we aren't a thing, so you don't need to-”

“Nevertheless, you were trying to do something decent for me, and I was a dick. Let me make it up to you.”

You frowned, not that he could see most of it under your mask. “Alright.”

“Listen, will you—will you wait right here? I'd like to start by buying you a drink.”

“I don't want people to-”

“You're in a mask, nobody will recognize you.”

“No, but they'll recognize you,” you pointed out. “That mask isn't exactly subtle and nobody else has a goatee that ridiculous.”

“Hey, my beard is cool. I thought you liked it!”

You laughed. “Just go to the bathroom, I'll wait here.”

Tony was quick in the bathroom and returned after a short wait, silently offering his arm to you, which you took. He led the way to the bar, where he got each of you a drink, and then raised his glass to you, smiling. You returned the gesture, and the both of you held eyes as you sipped your drinks.

“So, what do you think of this place?” You asked.

“I like it,” he grinned. “I think I should get some of these dancers for the tower, just for the reaction I'd get from Captain Stick-Up-His-Ass.”

You laughed. “He'd have an aneurism, for sure, and you'd go to jail for killing America's greatest national treasure.”

Tony chuckled.

“So,” you looked at him through your mask. “How exactly were you going to apologize to me?”

“Make it up to you,” he corrected. “I was thinking a nice meal. People like nice meals, right?”

“Hm. They do. How nice?”

“Pretty damn nice,” he sipped his drink.

“I'm surprised, I figured your way of apologizing would just be to go down on me,” you watched him.

He grinned at your blunt comment. “What did you think I meant by nice meal?”

You hit his arm.

“There will be real food, I promise,” he amended, and finished his drink. “Come on, let's go dance, show these people how it's done.”

You threw back the rest of yours and followed him out onto the floor, past the booth where Ty and Joey sat. You caught Joey's eye and winked at his astonished expression before being absorbed by the crowd.

Tony pulled you in close and let go, his hands grazing up your sides as the two of you started rocking back and forth to the bass. You raised your arms over your head, for a bit, and then lowered them around his neck, pulling him in close. You couldn't hear a thing, but you could feel his breath on your face and neck, and were sure he could feel yours too. The bodies around you pushed the two of you closer, and he held onto your waist a little more firmly. You kept an arm over his shoulders and pulled the other one back to touch the side of his face, then he leaned in, and kissed you on the dance floor. He pulled away with a grin and then lowered his head to your neck, and you had to hold tight to stay on your feet.

“Tony,” you breathed his name into his ear, and grabbed the back of his hair to pull his head back. He looked at you cautiously from under his mask, searching to see if he crossed a line, and then you pulled him back to your mouth, and your masks bumped each other. The two of you danced that way until you couldn't take it any more and Tony grabbed your hand, pulling you away to the exit, kissing most of the way down in the elevator. “Tony, wait, the photographers-”

He paused, looking at you. “Here,” he took off his mask, and gently removed yours. “Wear mine, it'll cover more of your face. I'll carry yours.” He slipped his on over your head, settling the band above your ears. You looked at your blurred reflection in the golden elevator doors, and he was right. It covered most of your face, leaving only your mouth visible. You looked up at him again. “Kinda hot,” he quirked a shoulder and smiled.

“What, mine isn't your style?”

“Too tasteful,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it around you. He took your hand when the elevator opened.

“Sir,” the lobby attendant greeted. “Miss,” he nodded respectfully at you, and you smiled back, trailing next to Tony with your hand in his.

“Ready?” Tony asked, and you nodded. He pushed the door open, pulling you through behind him. The cameras were still there, and they immediately turned when one shouted his name.

“Tony! Tony over here!”

“Tony who's the girl?!”

Even with the mask on you kept your head down and averted your face, suddenly thankful for Tony's jacket. His grip never faltered as he waved once at the cameras and looked back to check on you. You smiled at him and saw his car pull up to the curb.

“Tony, car's here,” you nodded towards it.

“Right, let's get going then,” he closed the distance and opened the car door for you, making sure your skirt wouldn't get caught in the door.

“Tony! Tony who is she!”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he waved and went around to the other door, getting in next to you.

“Tony, you don't want to drive?” A surprised man said in the front seat, looking back.

“I've had a few drinks,” Tony said. “Tower, please, if you don't mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually have a plot lined out lmao finally! thanks for waiting


	8. NOT AN UPDATE

When I first started this fic I promised a reader I wouldn't abandon it without warning. Unfortunately I no longer have the motivation to continue this storyline, and I'm not comfortable anymore writing a reader-fic where the main character is strongly gendered as female, because I realized that, well, I'm not, and have started transitioning in the last few months. I may revisit the fic with a neutral reader insert sometime in the future so even more people can enjoy it. Until then, I'll be leaving this version up, and if I do a reboot I'll update with a link to the new fic in an additional chapter.

I know it's kind of a bummer, but I wanted to give this heads up and take the time to thank those of you who have left kudos and comments. I appreciate every bit of positive attention this fic got, and if someone wanted to continue it on their own I'd be happy to link to it!

Thank you,

Bees


End file.
